


ad astra per aspera

by JaguarCello



Series: ad astra per aspera [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possibly unhealthy relationship dynamics.. is anyone surprised, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - Implied, Pretentious latin all the time, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Thranduil is incredibly self-centred wow, also wow this made me sad, would Thranduil be anything other than pretentious I mean come on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:49:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/pseuds/JaguarCello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thranduil is dragged out of grief and back into the world he should be part of; Legolas falls for a boy with a motorbike and plaits in his hair; Aragorn is constantly surprised by Arwen, the new professor in the science faculty; Elrond's sons raise havoc (and he is very proud); Kíli and Fíli join them in their mischief-making; Tauriel fails to resist temptation, and Thorin Oakenshield's old regiment returns from Afghanistan to a very different England. </p><p> Bilbo would just like to sell some cakes, actually, but ends up caught up in the complications of their lives, and the events which move them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kingthranduiI)   
>  [tumblr](http://gilgalad.co.vu/)   
>  [dedicated ad astra-verse tumblr](http://thranduilwould.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "ad astra per aspera" means "a rough road leads to the stars". It is the motto of the stupid university that all the characters either work at, or attend.  
> Thranduil is a professor of Latin and Classics, and Tauriel is a lecturer in the same subject. It is not very popular, mainly because Thranduil hates the idea of interference from the "outside" - help, basically - and refuses to let most students in. He haunts the forests behind the university, and talks to the trees sometimes.  
> Legolas studies ecology and spends most of his time in the woods or riding his horses. Or riding Gimli. But that is supposed to be a secret. He also pretends he doesn't sometimes shag Aragorn.  
> Gimli doesn't even go here; he works at a bike shop across the road from campus and has incredible tattoos.  
> Aragorn and Arwen are both doing PhDs in sciences - medicine and biology, respectively. She terrifies and enthralls him in equal measure. He intrigues her, but is far too young, she has decided.  
> Elladan and Elrohir are students, but nobody is quite sure what they study because they are so busy getting into fights with the less savoury characters on campus. They started PhDs in pathology a long time ago, though nobody knows if they are still doing them. Some suspect they perform autopsies on stolen corpses from the morgue in the medical school. They might be right.  
> Elrond is the Chancellor, and also teaches Anglo-Saxon and Viking studies, as well as linguistics. He also knows a lot about botany.  
> Kíli is studying English Literature (first year) and Fíli is in his final year of a degree in Business Management - the most generic thing he could think of, because he has no idea what to do with his life. He does, however, want to join the army like his uncle.  
> Boromir is only at the university to play for the football team, and the rugby team, and the rowing team when they're desperate. His brother, Faramir, studies English Literature.  
> Éowyn does women's studies and Éomer is studying politics.  
> Thorin and gang are in a regiment from the north. Probably Northumberland Fusiliers or similar.   
> Bilbo owns a little café nestled between the university and a record shop. 
> 
> more notes [here](http://thranduilwould.tumblr.com/post/74272644539/ad-astera-per-aspera-relationships-adoration-headcanons)
> 
> or: an essay on contrived coincidences

“You will rot to the core,” Elrond told Thranduil, and his eyes looked as though he had done this many times before, talked men down from their lofty, self-destructive dreams; perhaps he had.

 Thranduil looked away, hiding behind his long blond hair. “I’m _fine_ ,” he said again, and pinched a fold of cloth from his coat between his fingers.

Elrond frowned, eyebrows swooping over his eyes and nostrils flaring, and then sighed, face relaxing. “Your son isn’t going to want to know you, if you don’t stop this,” and he gestured around at the mess of the room – dirty clothes piled on the floor, empty bottles rolled into corners and half-hidden under the unmade bed. The heating was off despite the winter chill, and there was frost on the inside of the windows. “I know you’re grieving. We’ve given you as much of a leave of absence as we can afford, I’m afraid. It’s either teach again, or you’ll be let go,” and his face was impassive as he said this.

“You _bastard_ ,” Thranduil muttered, and forced a hand through his dirty hair, tossing his head back. “Fine. I need the money, and _aurum potestas est_.” he said. “But I’m not taking on any new students this year. My classes work best with me when they’re small and contained. I don’t like – “

 “Yes,” Elrond said, “I am aware of your need for isolation. It’s not fair on the students you could teach, though,” and he paused.

“I teach the students who are the best,” Thranduil tried to argue, but he sniffed. “I suppose I could relax the entrance criteria, just a little. And I’m doing this for Legolas, not for you, although to you I am _semper fidelis,_ ” he added warningly. “He’s eighteen. He can make his own choice about where he lives – but I’d rather see him than he move in with that Gimli friend of his. You know,” he went on, “that short boy who rides the motorbike. I think his father is a craftsman of some sort – I met him once, years ago.” He smiled ruefully. “He didn’t like me very much.” He paused again. “But then he has Aragorn, as well. I wish I could see what went on in that boy’s head! Aragorn or Gimli, but I can’t even decide which one I disapprove of the most. He sleeps around more than I did at his age,” and he smiled again.

 Elrond frowned.  “Well, if only for the sake of Legolas – and, I was very friendly with – “

 Thranduil whirled round, coat-tails flying. “Don’t say her name,” he said quietly, but his voice was undercut with menace and he looked towards Elrond as if his gaze could slice flesh. “I can’t say it, yet. Legolas won’t say it, won’t think about it – all he says is how I betrayed her anyway.”

 Elrond looked up. “Betrayed her?”

 Thranduil sighed again, forcing his hands deep into his pockets.  “It was a one-night thing. She’d been dead for three weeks and I was very drunk,” and Elrond winced at that.

 “Go on,” he said, and bent down to pick up the bottles that crowded at his feet.

“I was at a bar – that one in town that’s run by Gimli’s father’s friends, all those ex-soldiers he knows. I’m still not sure of his name, but he had a long beard. I’ve never been able to grow a beard,” he mused, and Elrond heard the words start to blend into each other.

“You’ve been drinking already this morning, haven’t you?” he asked quietly, but Thranduil ignored him.

“He fucked me, and Legolas caught us. He was pretty angry about the whole thing,” he said bluntly, and then shrugged. “I knew for a long time that I wasn’t quite straight. I mean, the hair should have been a giveaway. But when I watched my father die, I decided that I could never let him down. I had to have a child, because I had to give a child the chance to watch me die.” and his words trailed away into silence. He smiled.

 Elrond looked at him, wearing his coat like chainmail and using his words like weapons. “Thranduil, you need to stop this. I mean it,” he added, as Thranduil raised a finger in protest. “This – this death-wish you have is ridiculous. If you can’t live for the memory of the woman you loved, live for your son. You lost your father, I know that. But your son doesn’t need to lose you.”

 Thranduil looked up at that. “I’m all he’s got, aren’t I?” He laughed, and it was a broken sound. “He’s as fucked as I am.”

 “Stop that,” Elrond said sharply. “Get into the shower. Wash your hair, and I’ll make you some coffee. And then we’re going to tidy up,” and Thranduil mumbled something but loped over to the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head as he went.

 Elrond tried not to curse under his breath when he saw how thin Thranduil was, how his bones stretched the skin and his hipbones were hollowed around the swooping cavern of his stomach. He marched into the kitchen, and pulled open the fridge – it was turned off, with half an apple and a bottle of milk both moulding, and swore again.

He grabbed a plastic bag from the floor and started shoving bottles and boxes into it, recoiling from the sweet smell of rot. Takeaway menus were crammed through the letterbox, although (given the state of Thranduil’s ribs) he knew they hadn’t been used. When he moved them, a horde of spiders scurried for the safety of the skirting boards. Bills were piled up on the doormat, and when he tried to flick the light on it only sparked for a second. The power was off.

Thranduil came back from the bathroom, wearing only a pair of boxers. “The shower’s not working,” he said petulantly, and Elrond rolled his eyes.

“Right,” he said firmly. “Get dressed again – there must be _something_ clean in this house, even if it’s Legolas’s – I’m sure he does his washing. You used to be just as scrupulous about this sort of thing as he did,” and Thranduil rolled his eyes but turned to find something to wear, walking along the walls as if it would steady him better.

“Where are we going?” he called, through the half-open door of his bedroom.

“You’re going to have to come and stay with me for a bit,” Elrond replied, already sifting through the bedrooms at his house for a suitable one. “There’d be room for Legolas as well, if he wanted,” and Thranduil poked his head round the door, face sombre.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and Elrond nodded at him. He disappeared again, and in a few minutes was by the front door in a plain white shirt, and incredibly tight black jeans.

“Are they Legolas’s?” Elrond asked, amused.

“No,” Thranduil said proudly, and for a second, Elrond was reminded of him when he was the lord and master and monarch of his department, when students followed his teaching like gospel.

“You’re a good teacher,” he told him.

“Going to let me prove it?” Thranduil asked, with a hint of his old arrogance and charm.

Elrond laughed at that. “Wait until we get to Rivendell first, and then we can sort something out. Next term starts in a week – will you be ready by then?”

Thranduil sighed, and worried his hands in his pockets, but then stood straighter again. “Are the scars – “

 Elrond half-smiled, sadly, at that. “I didn’t even notice them. Although I did wonder why you, of all people, had not a single mirror,” and Thranduil laughed at that.

“Besides,” Elrond added, “that ex-soldier of yours didn’t seem to mind. We all have scars, Thranduil. Yours are just written on your face as well as your soul.”

“Yeah, that ex-soldier didn’t mind because he had his own scars. _Memento mori;_ we’re both fucked up in the head,” and he laughed again, slightly wildly. “He’s not mine. I’m not even mine any more – I’m ruled by the bottle and the occasional ministrations of my doomed colleague in the Latin department. And you, I suppose. I bow,” and he did, an exaggerated, embarrassing farce, “to the gods of education and the national curriculum.”

 All Elrond said was “Get in the car, Thranduil,” and he did. 


	2. ipsa scientia potestas est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knowledge is power, he has always said, and he tells Elrond a little more than he meant to about his state of mind.  
> It was a personal target of his to terrify at least a student a lesson, and he surpasses this target.

Rivendell was as lovely as it had been all those years ago, when Thranduil first arrived there. The ceilings were high and the windows stretched across entire walls; the whole house was filled with light. Elrond ignored Thranduil’s wonder-filled eyes, and pointed him towards the bathroom.

“Go and wash, properly. That includes behind your ears – there’s extra shampoo in the cabinet, and there are clean towels on the rail for you,” and he handed Thranduil a dressing gown.

“Ah, _dulcis domus_! Do you just keep all this shit lying around? How many times have you had to rescue beleaguered academics from their fugues?” Thranduil asked, tucking the dressing gown under his arm. “I mean, I know you’re the Chancellor and all, but – “

 “Shower, Thranduil. We can talk afterwards – your room is ready; it’s the one across from the bathroom, with the stained glass around the mirror,” and he looked quickly at the scar which cut just up to Thranduil’s eye, spoiling the otherwise perfect symmetry of his face. “I can remove the mirror, if you’d prefer,” he added quietly.

Thranduil sighed. “I suppose,” he said, “I might as well face the truth. I promise not to try an Ophelia again,” and headed to the bathroom. Elrond glanced at him as he went; he could see the outline of Thranduil’s ribs, stretched across his back.

The door was flung open, and Elladan burst in, followed by Elrohir. “We caught them, we think,” Elrohir said excitedly, running his hands through his dark hair to smooth it. A bruise was blooming on his cheek. “They can’t get away from us this time,” he added, and Elrohir looked at him.

“You sound like a bad action film, brother mine,” he said, but he smiled, grey eyes flickering to the bathroom door. “You brought home another stray? Wasn’t Aragorn enough for you?”

 Elladan rolled his eyes. “Aragorn was an orphan, and he – “

 “Thranduil is going to be staying here, for a while,” Elrond told them. “He needs rest, and he needs company other than whatever gin he could find in his cupboards. He’s going to come back to teaching, though,” and he smiled at that.

Elladan grinned. “Can he even remember any Latin? But he needs to distract himself. I mean, brooding never helped anyone – and besides, he’s been arguing with Legolas about the drinking. He seems to think Legolas is sleeping with Gimli – “

 Elrohir tapped his twin’s arm. “I’m sure dad doesn’t want to know about all that – but it’s true, about the arguing. Legolas told Aragorn and Aragorn told us, when we were loitering in the lab one day. He lets us do post-mortems now. I suppose we are his brothers, in that we half grew up together, and then the Arwen thing – “

 Elrond looked round at him. “Arwen? I didn’t know they still –“

 Elladan laughed. “Oh, they can’t keep their eyes off each other! They walk around that lab as if they’re circling a drain. Everyone knows they’re going to fall in again. They’ve been doing _that_ dance for the best part of ten years, now,” and he smiled. “I’m glad, actually.”

 Elrond sighed. “Don’t meddle,” he said sternly, and the bathroom door opened.

“Ah,” said Thranduil, looking at the three of them. “A welcome committee. How lovely of you all,” and he swept – with as much dignity as was possible when wearing only a small towel – to the bedroom he had been given. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and shut the door gently.

“He’s thin,” Elrohir half-whispered, and Elrond nodded.

“When you’re done,” he called to the closed door, “there will be food in the kitchen for you. There are clothes in the wardrobe, and a hairdryer, if you need it,” and he hid a smirk.

“Vain as ever?” Elrohir whispered again.

“I _heard_ that,” Thranduil yelled, and the door opened. He had shoved his hair into some sort of plait, and was wearing a silken shirt and tight black trousers, and his feet were bare. His long toes left damp footprints as he padded to the kitchen, and Elrond followed him.

“Ah, food,” he said, looking at the spread of bread and honey and fruits. “I don’t really do that any more,” he admitted, and ducked his head. “It all seemed rather pointless,” and his voice trailed away. He sat down.

“What did?” Elrond asked sternly, frowning at the twins; they got the message, and left the room, shutting the door behind them.

“Eating, sleeping, seeing Legolas, life,” Thranduil half-sung, and then smiled. “I tried to drown myself a week after she was killed. I still had stitches in my face, but I decided to do it properly. I floated for a while, face-up, until my garments were heavy with their drink; it was no good. I was fished out. The only casualty was my silk shirt,” and he pouted slightly.

Elrond looked at him, and then put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said, and Thranduil started to shake with silent sobs.

“It’s my fault that she died,” he said clearly, and then his sobs broke free, and he tilted forwards until he could rest his head on the table. “I should have done more,” he added, brokenly.

“You pulled her from a burning car. You could have been killed,” Elrond said cautiously, sitting down next to him on the bench.

“I should have been,” Thranduil said, and then wiped at his eyes furiously. “It was a roadblock; they were going to rob us, I think. I wish they had just left with our money, but they wanted her wedding ring. Do you remember it? She didn’t want to give it up, and she begged them, and they shot her in the throat. I was hit by her blood, and pieces of the windshield, hence the scarring,” and he gestured at his face. “She drowned in her own blood. I heard her drown, and once she was dead – and I was covered in blood, mine and hers – they set the car alight,” and he paused to scrub at his eyes again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Elrond said, and Thranduil looked at him furiously.

“I could have saved her, but instead I sat there and let Smaug and his men take her from me. And for what? For the money they thought I owed them! I read up about it, in the papers. It was some ancient claim, when we were young men – _eheu! fugaces labuntur anni_  - and Thrór hadn’t grown so greedy that his entire company was destroyed from under him. And because of that family and their _stupidity_ – “

 “You’re shouting,” Elrond reminded him, handing him some tea; Thranduil ignored him.

“And then,” he added, “I let Oakenshield fuck me, as soon as he got back from whatever war our armies are fighting now. He smelled like sweat and danger, and I can’t really blame that on the alcohol because I would do it again,” and he was almost whispering now, and Elrond had to strain to hear.

“Right,” Elrond said slowly. “You need to see someone about your grief. It doesn’t make you weak, it means you want to be stronger. You have to be strong, Thranduil,” and Thranduil sighed, as if all his bones were groaning with him.

“I suppose – I suppose I should teach again. I know a lot more about tragedy now. And hubris; if I were to have a fatal flaw, it would be arrogance _.  Ipsa scientia potestas est,_ I suppose – and I don’t think I can change that, though,” and he seemed to have shrunk, hair slipping from the plait and falling across his face to hide his eyes. “I will come back to teaching,” he whispered, and nodded to himself, sitting up straight and tossing his hair back behind his ears in the old haughty manner. “You don’t have anyone as good as me, anyway,” and a ghost of a smile threatened to flit across his face.

Elrond rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop his own smile from spreading. “We do need you,” he admitted, and Thranduil beamed.

 The week before term began again was always hectic for Elrond, organising last-minute transfers and arguing with the printing department over the price of a coloured ink cartridge; desperately filing students’ lives away, one folder at a time; forcing his sons to stop getting into fights – but this week was different. He had poured away all the alcohol in the house; Thranduil had watched him and had said nothing, but afterwards had muttered something which might have been a prayer. He had invited Legolas to stay, but Legolas had declined, preferring instead to ride his horses around the forests by the university on the pretence of examining genetic diversity in leaves. 

 Despite these stresses, the first day of term was a bright one. The sun was just peeking through the trees, painting their barks a bright gold, and the frost had painted the lawns in front of the languages department a shining white. Students thronged the halls and corridors, huddling around radiators for warmth or smoking in a desperate attempt to thaw out their hands.

Thranduil swept into the classroom, long coat flying behind him. He had requested that Tauriel – a Classics graduate who had been covering his classes – leave everything as it was, and she had. Posters of anatomical diagrams and star-maps and ancient maps of long-ago empires vied for attention with bleached bones and feathers and crystals of deep purples and ambers and gleaming white and paintings of mountains and forests and the seas; the windows had no curtains, and the moon was still high in the pale blue sky. There were sketches of archaeological digs, and casts of Roman coins, and innumerate paintings of mythological scenes. The only change, he noted, was that the mirrors which had hung opposite the windows had been removed. He took a deep breath.

“I’m sure you’re aware,” he begun, looking at the students at their desks, “of how _exclusive_ this class used to be. I would have five students, no more. Now, I am beholden to the gods of education; I was forced to pick between three great goddesses – “ he broke off, and sighed. “Well, between drinking or teaching or drowning,” he muttered, and sniffed. “Right. As I was saying, you’re here because I am no longer allowed to pick and choose the best of the best. You will have to impress me through sheer hard work, if you’re not one of those. I trust,” and the class were still watching him, half-terrified, “that you are all ready to leave your mundane lives behind? To forget, for a second, the chains of this world – the shackles of convention and the dullness of polite conversation; to cast off your skins and your shadows and dance with the gods?”

He paused again, inhaling through his nose. “You will have to work hard in this class, that much is obvious. We will go far, far beyond the confines of this classroom; we will watch for the future and learn from the past and laugh at the present. Are you ready?”

 A boy with serious dark eyes put his hand up; Thranduil whirled upon him, and he wilted in his seat, but cleared his throat.

“Are you – are you going to give us _drugs_ , sir?”

Thranduil smirked at him. “Something far, far better. You will see the dust-motes spiralling at the centre of the universe and the mechanisms that drive the minds, and the histories of all the peoples of this land, imagined and those who walked the earth. These stories, you see – these languages –“ and he gestured to the books that were stacked up in the corner of the room – “are a testament of their own. They talk of gods intervening in human wars, of love, of life and death and joy and sorrow. They will teach you about the species we are, and everything that we are not – and everything we could be. So, I’m going to ask you again. Are you ready?”

 There were no more interruptions. The class passed smoothly – a discussion of madness, of turning up the volume of one’s inner monologue until it is all one can hear, of the smashing of the spirits and the mockery of the gods. As they left, he heard them muttering about his state of mind, and he smiled.

“It feels good to have this back,” he told his reflection, once he had heaved the mirrors back onto the walls. He traced his scar with one finger, and then spent his lunch break practising blowing smoke-rings at the sun, as if they could choke out its light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kingthranduiI)   
>  [tumblr](http://gilgalad.co.vu/)   
>  [ad astra tumblr](http://thranduilwould.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Aragorn slip back into old ways. Everyone is very concerned about Thranduil, who seems to be growing more and more like Caligula every day.  
> Boromir eats toast in an obnoxious manner, and Kíli is put off his treacle tart. Bilbo solidifies his reputation as slightly strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some notes on the ages of the characters:  
> Kíli and Fíli are the same age as the rest of the students. Age ranges are 18 - about 23. Tauriel is 22 and ferociously bright, which is why she's so goddamned accomplished. It irritates Thranduil, who is in his thirties. Thorin and co. are mostly around the same age.

“Star-gazing again?”

 Legolas turned at the voice, and the arrow he had been twirling between his long fingers snapped. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, and pretended to go back to watching the skies, leaning his bow against a tree with practised ease. “It’s not even dark yet, and I’m actually out here for a class, you know. Barn owls have been spotted –“ and he pointed up at the folly, a black tower against the lights of the campus.

“I know you’re pretending not to look at me,” Aragorn said, tucking his hair behind his ears; it was stubborn, though, and swung back in front of his face.  

Legolas ignored him, and fiddled with a dial on his camera before putting it back gently onto the tripod. “Barn owls are increasingly rare –“

 “You’re stargazing. I _know_ you are, because I saw you doing little drawings of them,” Aragorn told him, matter-of-factly. “Can I see?”

 Legolas shrugged. “I asked my dad if he was interested – we used to look at the stars when I was little. We’d all go, all three of us, with flasks of hot chocolate,” and he paused. “He only drinks hot chocolate when it’s laced with gin or whisky or whatever else he can find, now, and even that probably has too many calories in. And he took down the star-chart that hung in his office at home. When I was a kid, I’d sit there for hours looking at it, and I’d try to avoid the animal bones on the wall. He thinks they’re interesting; he finds them in the woods. I’m not sure what he does out here,” and he stopped again. “Yes, you can see,” and he handed the sketchbook to Aragorn.

 “Be patient with me, okay? I am a mere medical student, and I do not know the ways of the universe,” Aragorn said, holding the book like it was made of finest china. “So, that’s the pole star. I know that one because my mother’s family were hugely into the outdoors. Not as hippy as you, though – we’d all go hunting, and I learned to track animals for days. My mother died before I could make my first kill,” and he traced the star-map.

“My mother’s dead too,” Legolas told him, as if he didn’t know.

“Elrond told us. I – “ and he looked hesitant for the first time. “What did she die of?”

 “Car crash,” Legolas said, as if the words had been burning the tip of his tongue. “It was murder, a roadside robbery gone wrong. My father thinks the same but since he’s trying to pickle his liver I can’t really do anything; some ancient feud or imagined debt,” and Aragorn nodded, and handed the book back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and put a hand – nails filthy with mud – on the shoulder. They stood like that for a while, both pretending to not look at the stars, or steal glances at each other.

“What made you choose medicine?” Legolas asked suddenly, looking Aragorn firmly in the face.

He shrugged. “My father wanted me to, and I resisted for a long time, I suppose. My grandmother used to make a lot of weird-smelling tea and tell me about her visions as well, and she said she saw me becoming a doctor. I tried to ignore it. When I ended up at Elrond’s I had a long time to brood about my mother’s death, and I decided to accept my destiny,” and he laughed humourlessly. “Mainly because she shouldn’t have died,” and his voice was anger and sadness and the huskiness of too many cigarettes.

“Ah, a misguided hero, then,” Legolas said softly. “I picked ecology because I have always loved the woods and the rotting trunks and mushrooms, and the bluebells in spring, and the dormice that hide in hollow branches. And I was rather good at it; it spoke to my soul,” and he tugged the sleeves of his jumper over his hands.

“You’re cold,” Aragorn said, and took off his jacket. “You’re _thin_ , as well – doesn’t your father feed you anymore?”

Legolas took the jacket. “I don’t see him, apart from when we pass in the corridors. He’s regained his love for terrorising the new students with a horrifying vigour, have you seen? He made one cry the other day by going too far in his impression of Caligula. It’s on Youtube,” he offered.

“Why don’t you see him? I see Elrond, and his family,” and he sighed.

“Arwen,” said Legolas, eyes glinting with a wickedness that reminded Aragorn of Thranduil.

Aragorn tried to roll his eyes, but only succeeded in smiling. “My heart was lost the moment I saw her,” he said quietly, and Legolas nodded.

“I know how you feel,” he muttered, and then turned back to his camera before Aragorn could ask him what he meant. “I did actually get a picture of a barn owl earlier – a young one. He was too young to be flying solo,” and he showed Aragorn the picture. “He’s misguided,” he said again, but Aragorn ignored him.

“Why are you out here, really? I'd have thought that boyfriend of yours could have lent you his biker jacket,” he asked, looking at Legolas’s thin jumper.

Legolas sighed. “I have your jacket, I'm warm enough. Gimli and I don't really do anything other than get high together, he's not my _boyfriend_. But fine, fine. When I was little I was really into archery, and I practice up here where I can see everything and hear even more. And the wind here is minimal, but if I move out of the trees it’s so strong that all the bushes have been wrenched sideways through the years – see?” He pointed out across the gathering dark.

“What do you shoot? Barn owls?” Aragorn asked, but he glanced at the bow leaning against a tree. “I’m embarrassed that I managed to miss that. Woe is me,” and Legolas looked at him.

“If my father were here, he’d have said that in Latin; _me miserum_ ,” he said dolefully. “I shoot targets. Look,” and sure enough, hidden behind a thicket was the figure of a man, or not quite a man. He had what looked like antlers, until Aragorn narrowed his eyes and saw that they were arrows.

“You breath so loudly I could have shot you in the dark,” Legolas told him, eyes glinting again.

“Hey, pretty-boy, your hair practically glows. I’d have had no trouble sneaking up on you – and I’ve heard that from one of your friends before. Are you _all_ lunatic archers?” he asked, smiling behind his stubble.

“Only some of us are archers; you’ve lived with Elladan and Elrohir. You know what we’re like,” and he grinned suddenly at Aragorn.

“Lord have mercy,” Aragorn muttered.

“Anyway,” Legolas said, and nocked an arrow. “Want to see what I’ve got?”

 “Fucking pretentious hipster idiot also shoots at toys in the dead of night; somehow I am not surprised,” Aragorn told the heavens, but nodded. “Go on then,” and he smiled.

Legolas drew the bow almost effortlessly, and loosened the arrow with a frightening speed. He listened for the satisfying thud as the arrow landed in the wooden target’s torso, and raised one perfect eyebrow. Aragorn swallowed, but his mouth was dry, and Legolas did it again, the arrow landing squarely in the neck this time.

“You’re a dick,” Aragorn said, and Legolas put down the bow, reaching out to run his fingers across Aragorn’s stubble. He looked at Legolas, and licked his lips. “I thought we said we’d stop this,” but he kissed back anyway.

Legolas kissed like a drowning man grabs at a life-raft, hands tangled in already tangled hair, and his lips were slightly chapped; Aragorn was gentle, smooth to the sharp corners of Legolas’s body.

“I knew you were lying about the fucking stars,” Aragorn told him, trying to control his breathing until Legolas knelt down in the mud and unzipped his jeans with his teeth, and there was no point trying. He whimpered against the sleeve of his shirt.“Is there a star for sex? Or, maybe a god of sex? I hate to bring up your dad when your tongue’s –“

“Shut up,” Legolas told him, and Aragorn came so hard that he hit his head against the tree.

He took his time with Legolas, kissing every inch of his pale skin until Legolas frowned and ordered him to get on with it, and so he did, twisting his wrist in that practised way he used to use. Like always,  Legolas came with a sigh, and then watched sleepily as Aragorn licked his fingers clean; they kissed, and tasted themselves on the other.

“Sleep,” Legolas told him, curling their legs together, and so he did.

 He woke up wrapped in his jacket and wrapped around Legolas, with his hands clasping the curve of Legolas’s hips.

“See, we’ve more or less stopped this. No sex, really, this time,” Legolas pointed out, picking a leaf from his hair. “Plus it doesn’t count as “on campus” because we are in a forest, and you have ice in your hair. Why did we sleep here?” he asked, seriously, as if it had been someone else’s idea.

Aragorn stood up, stretching, and felt his arms click as he moved. Legolas watched him, eyes hungry.

“We have class in an hour,” he said, and Aragorn felt a small stab of disappointment. “You have bruises on your neck,” he added, pointing, and then kissing each one.

“So do you,” Aragorn told him, tracing the bruise with his fingertips.

Legolas shrugged, and tried not to look pleased. “Everyone will _know_ ,” he said, sounding gleeful.

“When has that bothered you?” Aragorn said, and kissed him slowly.

“You taste disgusting,” Legolas told him, and handed him some gum. “It’s vegan,” he said, and Aragorn tried to look appreciative.

“Your neck is awful, though,” Legolas said again, and smiled. “I like it,” and he looked so proud of himself that Aragorn had to laugh.

“You’re awful,” he retorted, and Legolas raised an eyebrow.

“I like it,” he said, and Aragorn rolled his eyes. “I like you,” he added solemnly.

“Shut up,” Aragorn told him, and kissed him again.

They were both late to class, dirt on their faces and leaves in their hair, and Arwen laughed at Aragorn’s neck.

“You’ve been fucking that blond guy again, haven’t you?” Éomer asked, with typical bluntness, at lunch. Aragorn ducked his head, and tried not to look at anyone. He stared resolutely at the wall of the café, as if the menu on the chalkboard could be replaced with a quick way out. The owner of the café, a short man with curly hair, bustled over, and handed them their drinks. He caught Aragorn’s eye, and smiled.

“No disrespect to you,” the man said, “but could you please not – not swear? It’s just that there are young children here,” and he looked at Kíli.

“I’m an _adult_ , Bilbo,” Kíli told him, but took his lemon squash grudgingly. Bilbo smiled innocently, and shoved a treacle tart at him, taking him by surprise, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Kíli stared after him. “He may be an old family friend,” he muttered, “but he is a complete lunatic,” and he rolled his eyes, before seizing a fork and digging in.

“So, back to the fucking,” Boromir said, and his brother winced. “Faramir, stop _blushing_ , it’s a natural and wonderful act –“ and he ducked as Faramir tried to elbow him in the head, grinning.

“Well, I think it’s lovely,” Éowyn said firmly, “even if your neck does look like you were thoroughly ravished,” and Éomer frowned at her.

“Can we not talk about ravishing? I’m trying to eat my treacle tart,” Kíli protested, and Aragorn nodded at him gratefully.

“When’s your uncle back?” he asked, pulling his jacket collar across his neck.

“He’s been back a month,  as have the rest of his regiment, and  he has been spending that time fucking your boyfriend’s dad,” Kíli said, with grim satisfaction.

“You’re bullshitting,” Boromir told him, licking toast crumbs off his fingers.

“Nope,” Kíli said, and shrugged. “I don’t know if Legolas knows – “ and he paused, to look expectantly at Aragorn.

“He knows,” Aragorn supplied. “He walked in on them – they were drunk and apparently it was pretty rough, and then his dad had rope marks on his wrists the next morning. He’s not been back since,” he added, without thinking. 

Kíli pushed the treacle tart away. “Well, that was too much information to get before 2pm, and I am now going to bleach my brain,” and he shoved his chair aside and headed to the bathroom.

“He’s going to call his brother and whine about how we’re corrupting him,” Éowyn said smugly. “I’m very proud.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Tauriel might have come up with an agreement for classes; Legolas speaks to his dad, and Thorin gets into a fight (he and Thranduil have adjacent bathrooms in Elrond's house). There are kisses and bloodied noses, and the two are tangentially related.

Thranduil was picking up the papers that had fallen to the floor when he had fallen asleep at his desk, with the window open, when the door opened. He looked up, long hair falling across his face.

“Oh,” he said, and Tauriel rolled her eyes. She switched on the light, and he blinked, shielding his eyes with his sleeve.

“Nice to see you, too. Do you – want a hand?” she asked, and Thranduil nodded.

He tried to ignore his shaking hand, and picked up another sheaf of papers, crumpling them between his long fingers. “I’m fine –“

 “The last time you said that,” she said, bending down to peel a piece of paper from a puddle of coffee, “you ended up crying on and then sleeping with Thorin Oakenshield,” and he looked at her sharply.

“Oh, are there regulations about with whom I can sleep? C _orruptisima re publica plurimae leges_ – but howon _earth_ did you find that out?” he said, trying to look as if the fact didn’t bother him; he shoved the papers onto the desk and moved an ash tray on top of them. She grimaced, and pretended not to see.

“Your pedant’s grammar doesn’t make you look clever, and Kíli told me – “

“Ah,” he breathed, nostrils flaring slightly as he smiled, “your little friend. Well, it’s nice that you are making new friends, even if it is with the literature students. I suppose you know Faramir? Very sharp, that boy. I mean, compared to his brother –“

 She frowned quickly at him. “Boromir is cleverer than you in some ways. Like, for example, he drinks for fun, and not to face the mirror in the morning – which you’ve not been doing, clearly, since you have toothpaste on your chin. He doesn’t sleep with the first guy with stubble!”

 Thranduil looked at her, dark eyebrows swooping low. “Isn’t it a little early for a morality lesson? I don’t shame you for Kíli, do I? Even if – “ and he held up a hand at her furious face, and carried on. “Even if you’ve done nothing more than roll your eyes when he flirts with you, you’ve thought about it,” and he stopped suddenly. “He’s Thorin’s nephew, isn’t he?”

She raised her chin, tossing her red hair behind her shoulders. “Yes, he is – it might just be me, but this university seems rather _incestuous_ of late. Anyway,” and she moved a piece of hair from side to side across her parting, “I’m really not interested in boys who are impressed by a pretty smile, and nothing else,” and she smiled sweetly at him.

“You’ve been talking to Arwen, have you not?” Thranduil said, smoothing his hair. “She feels much the same about Aragorn – oh, don’t look so shocked that I keep up! I like secrets,” he said seriously, and she rolled her eyes.

“No, you’re just a gossip masquerading as a classics teacher. Which, by the way, is the reason I’m here. Do you need me to stay on?” Her eyes slipped to his desk, and the bottle standing there.

“It’s water,” he said quietly, and she shook her head.

“You fell asleep at your desk. Or passed out, I’m not sure – but I came in here to find your class prancing around in togas made from the curtains, so god knows what they would have done if I hadn’t been here. I know I’m only a lecturer, but Arwen is as well, and she gets far more respect from people,” and her face was almost as red as her hair.

“Am I to presume that we are discussing the subject of my inability and unsuitability to teach?” Thranduil asked, voice low and deadly.

Tauriel sighed. “I’m here to help – Legolas told me you were finding things difficult again. Have you spoken to Elrond about it? He lost his wife, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said, “but that was a random act of terrorism. That was – that wasn’t anyone’s _fault_ , just a bomb in the wrong place at the wrong time. Elladan and Elrohir were in pieces – although, she was too I suppose. But well, you can teach with me, if you want,” and then he sat back down again, limbs loose. 

“You’re half-drunk already,” Kíli said, listening at the door.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Thranduil asked, smoothing his hair again, although it was perfect already.

“I’m here,” Kíli said proudly, “for help with my essay. You know I picked up that module about the local place names, and their Latin equivalents?” He looked at Thranduil. Thranduil looked at Tauriel.

“Of course,” she said quickly, looking at the faded poster of the Colosseum behind Kíli’s head. “What do you need help with?”

Kíli hesitated. “Well, okay, that was a lie. It’s just that – professor – “ and he looked at Thranduil. “My uncle’s –“

Thranduil rolled his eyes, and rolled a piece of paper between his fingers. “I suppose you want me to help the damsel in distress? I’m not in the mood for driving,” and he put the paper down carefully.

“You mean,” supplied Tauriel, “that you are over the limit. Kíli, what is it?”

 “He’s been – he’s got into a fight,” Kíli said, “with someone he met out in Afghanistan. The name sounded foreign – Zog? No, that’s ridiculous. But I think,” and he looked at Thranduil properly for the first time, “that this bloke is involved with the lot who killed your wife. International terrorism, apparently,” but Thranduil had already thrown on his coat and was walking out the door, placing each foot with careful precision.

“International terrorism?” Tauriel asked, pulling her hair up from under her collar. She pulled her car keys out of her pocket, and pointed at a small green one.

Kíli nodded, speeding up his pace to keep up with her. “You know Éomer? Blond hair, will never admit that he fancies Faramir, drinks rosé and rides horses with Legolas? Politics student,” he added, when she still looked confused.

“Ah, the rude one?” she asked, and then laughed. “This place really is ridiculously small, but yes, I know him. Legolas is a friend of his, and I am a friend of Legolas’,” and Kíli nodded.

“He had a class on their organisation a while ago – “ he stopped in front of the car, and got in the opposite side to Thranduil.

“You took your time,” Thranduil said, and Tauriel sniffed the air.

“You’d better not have been smoking in my car,” she said, warningly. He smiled disarmingly at her, and flipped the air conditioning on; she shoved the keys in the ignition.

“I’m sorry, you were saying about this group?” she threw out behind her, and Thranduil nudged Kíli.

“Oh right, yeah. Well, they’re big. Like, al-Qaeda big, but not as well-known. They’re after money, but that’s not their motivation – Sauron, he’s their leader, he’s just after power. And then he has lieutenants and colonels and – other ranks,” he finished weakly.

Thranduil nodded. “They like cruelty, like shooting women in the throat in front of their husbands and then setting the car on fire. They use children as shields and they are scratching around inside my head,” and he wiped his eyes again. “I’m not crazy,” he added, at their concerned looks.

“And how has your uncle got himself mixed up in all this again?” he went on, looking at Kíli.

Kíli shrugged. “He met some old friends in the pub, and they started talking about the good old days, back when they had money – it was taken from them in shady circumstance, and he ended up joining the army. And then this guy came over, started talking about how Thorin had ruined his father’s life, and then my uncle said no, _his_ father had ruined Thorin’s father’s life – “

“Breathe, Kíli,” Tauriel reminded them, pulling into the car park.

“And yeah and then someone pulled a knife and my uncle had an involuntary recurrent memory – “ he broke off, and looked out at the car park.

Thranduil tore the door open, and saw Thorin, hair wilder than it had ever seen it and nose running red down his chin, leaning against a car. He leant forwards to spit blood, and Thranduil swallowed.

“Thorin,” he said quietly, and Thorin turned.

“It’s – I’ve been dreaming again,” Thorin said, blood bubbling around his mouth. He sniffed, and then spat blood onto the floor again. “I was back there, back in the chaos, when you should have _helped_ ,” and the group of silent men standing at the door moved a little closer. “I’m fine now,” he said to them, but the eldest – a man with white hair and beard – stayed where he was. “Balin,” he added, in a warning tone.

He held his finger under his nose, to stem the gore that was dripping to the floor. “You should go, pretty boy,” he said to Thranduil, and turned to walk back to his friends, flexing a finger as if they remembered the grip of a rifle.

“Thorin,” Elrond said, walking up behind them, and Thranduil and Thorin looked round.

“Where the hell did he come from?” Kíli asked Tauriel out of the corner of his mouth. She shrugged.

“There’s a place for you both at Rivendell,” Elrond said to Thorin and Thranduil. “Thorin, I understand you need a place to stay, and Thranduil – well. You need to be there, really. I’ve made up a room for you, Thorin,” he said, and nodded over to his car. “I understand you might be unwilling, but you need sanctuary, for now,” and Thorin sighed deeply.

“I – I do need somewhere,” he said, gruffly, and then sighed again. “For a little while, if that’s alright. Just until I can get my father’s house back from Smaug and his group of lowlifes – if that’s even possible. But I was born in that house, I grew up climbing in those caves, and I watched my family die with their blood all over the doorstep. I want it back,” and he stood straight despite his bruises.

Thranduil laughed. “ _De fumo in flammam -_ you’re going after _Smaug_? He killed my wife! His men shot her in front of me!” He ran his fingers across his face, tracing the scars that sliced through his cheek. “I know how dangerous he is – “

“As do I,” Thorin told him, frowning. “I was there too, remember? My sister died in my arms,” and he looked at Kíli, who looked away.

“You’re as crazy as you look,” Thranduil said, and laughed too loudly.

“You’re as ridiculous as you are in bed,” Thorin hissed, breathing heavily, and Thranduil snorted at that. Thorin stepped closer to him, fists clenched, and Elrond put his hand on his chest. Thorin strained for a second, and then slumped back, head down.

“Come on, you’ve both got rooms and warm baths waiting for you. If you must fight, do it in the morning, when you’re rested,” Elrond said, and looked from one to the other. “Please,” he said quietly, and Thorin growled under his breath, but got into the car. Thranduil sighed, and got into the opposite side, muttering obscenities in a long-lost language.

 “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said politely to Tauriel. “Thank you for the lift,” and she rolled her eyes.

It was fully dark by the time they arrived at Elrond’s, and Elladan was watching television with Aragorn and Legolas in the living room. Elrohir was lying on the rug, playing with a huge cat.

“Is that _Elk_?” Thranduil asked, pointing at the cat. The four looked up at him, and he noticed that Aragorn had love bites on his neck, and Legolas had identical teeth marks on his collarbones; he pretended not to notice.

“Yes,” Legolas answered, looking down smoothly. “Fifth incarnation by now,” and he smiled.

“Right, well,” Thranduil said, feeling for the first time unsteady on his feet. “Time for bed, I think,” and turned on his heel.

“Your room’s this way as well,” Elrond said to Thorin, and the four looked up again. Aragorn whispered something, and Legolas elbowed him. Elladan tried, and failed, to hide a smile.

Thorin’s room was down the corridor from Thranduil’s, and their bathrooms were next to each other. Thranduil found this out when, at a quarter past three in the morning, he walked in on Thorin inspecting his bruised ribs in the mirror.

“Apologies, Durin,” he said calmly.

“Wait,” Thorin said, and looked down. “My back – I can’t reach to see, and the mirror’s no good – too steamed up from the shower,” and he turned, muscles shifting beneath the skin. “I would owe you a debt,” he said, and tried not to smile.

Thranduil rolled his eyes at that. “You would try to seduce me in Elrond’s bathroom?” but he smirked, and stood close behind Thorin. “I’m only doing this as a favour, just so you know. I derive – “ and he placed his thumbs on the curves of Thorin’s hips – “no pleasure from this at all,” he reminded him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Thorin said, and laughed – too loudly for the quiet space.

“Be _quiet_ ,” Thranduil snapped, leaning forwards to press a kiss to a green-blue bruise that was spread across Thorin’s spine, and Thorin turned round and his lips tasted of blood and high-tar cigarettes. He kissed him back, hands held tightly in his hair, and Thorin bit his lip. Thranduil hissed a curse under his breath, and moved his hands down Thorin’s arms, and then slipped his thumb under his belt.

Thorin moaned at that, muffled by Thranduil’s neck, and Thranduil knew he would have teeth-marks there in the morning. Thorin kissed him again, desperately, and reached up to pull at his hair. Thranduil stopped, jolted, and his mind was flooded with his fingers caught in blood-soaked hair and his own sobbing in the grey light of a winter dusk -

“I can’t – “ Thranduil said, and backed away, knocking the soap-dish to the floor with a clatter. “I’m sorry,” he added, and fled back to his room and his brandy, hidden in his shirts draw.

He slept fitfully that night, his dreams full of the smell of burning skin and the scratch of stubble on his face. 


End file.
